TITLE: Kingdom of Rust 1/21/15 By Weeping Skye 01/22/15 |
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
SEND ARTICLE TO A FRIEND |
castle walls it seems are dust,
breaking up, then falling down,
on my head a rusted crown.
Broken scepter in my hand,
an empty Kingdom I command
faithful subjects it seems have left
to my demands they are now deaf.
I sit upon this wretched throne
and rule this empire all alone,
moth and rust did eat away
and left behind their ruined decay.
Emptiness, in vain denial
I hide behind a crooked smile
and look upon the heap of rubble
these precious treasures of hay and stubble.
I sit in darkness all alone
for I’m shackled to this rusted throne
and peer beyond yon window sill
a wooden cross upon a hill.
“Sell these things and follow me”
those haunting words it cannot be,
“and there are treasures” I am told
in a Kingdom made of gold.
In my sadness I would turn,
and to my kingdom I returned,
but do not fret nor pity me,
for to these shackles...I’ve the key.
But I chose to rule this rust
until this body returns to dust
how wretched, unfair, life can be
when my kingdom is but me.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.